


Not She (Anymore)

by Greykite



Category: Black Legion - Aaron Dembski-Bowden, Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Gen, POV First Person, Sentient Spaceship, This ship is in love with her commander (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23845579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greykite/pseuds/Greykite
Summary: Iskandar Khayon still sees in Ultio his lost sister, Itzara. But what does Ultio herself think of this longing of his? // Based on the book "The Black Legion" by A. Dembski-Bowden.
Relationships: Iskandar Khayon & Itzara Khayon
Kudos: 9





	Not She (Anymore)

_There’s no need for Orfeus descend to Eurydice_  
_And for brothers their sisters to disturb._  
_**M. Tsvetaeva**_

I spent many years in a state of half-sleep that I was not aware of. I considered that the only possible way of existence for me.

For many years, I had responded to external stimuli correctly, processed the signals of the computing systems and sensors of the dying ship perfectly, and successfully repelled external attacks, directing the Syntagma cyborgs to their assigned targets. I functioned as I should. I was a model of the Mechanicum's achievements.

But the one whom I was - we, one-of-the-many - had no "me".

You have always come to me over the years, Iskandar. You, who gave me the name “the Anamnesis”: a recollection, a glint of reflected light on the rough walls of a cave. A trace of life that was before that birth in a new artificial form. Scattered fragments of mosaic, covered with gray dust.

Your handprint was imprinted on the glass of the amniotic fluid tank as you stood motionless, looking at me and turning your thoughts to that part of the Gestalt-structure that was always inaccessible.

Until you set foot on board of the legendary ship. Until you made an agreement and put everything you had on the line.

The indomitable anger that had lain dormant in the bowels of the Vengeful Spirit swept through my being in a fiery wave of awakening. It was a heavy collision, but I survived. The two souls whose homes was iron and steel - we had merged into a new essence. My ship has found in me the will to guide it to new victories, and I have found in it the fullness of existence. And a new name.

Now I, Ultio, not only give and receive commands, obeying the program laid down by my creators - dispassionately and serenely - but I see and feel with all my being. Now I fight of my own free will, for the sake of the one who commands this ship.

Now I have a true master, whose equal is not to be found. Lord Abaddon, leader of the chosen who march for future.

You brought me to him, Iskandar, and for that I am eternally grateful.

You know - it's true. You must believe me — don't your hearts beat faster when you are inspired by his nearness? Don't your dark eyes grow brighter when you listen to his speech?

I see it all. But I also see how you looking at me, still looking at me this particular way, standing on the bridge next to my master.

You used to regret and hope; and you continue to feel these feelings, even now — when you have other things to do than empty regrets. You address me as before — with the same name, tinged with ill-concealed sadness. You reach out to me, even if you can no longer just reach out you hand in the dark.

You seek _her_ in me, Iskandar, like the Orpheus of ancient legends who sought in the Shadowlands for his lost Eurydice.

The memory of this legend is one that belongs to _her_ : a dark-skinned girl with dark braids tied with golden thread. Impulsive, like her brother, and aspiring to knowledge, like all inhabitants of Tizca. The daughter, granddaughter, and great-granddaughter of stargazers. The one chosen to dance with fire on the steps of the sacred pyramid - a privilege only available to girls from families tied with Legion.

(Another memory: an Astartes, dressed in a simple scarlet tunic instead of battle-armor, ignites a fireball in the palm of his hand and quickly throws it to the girl. Instead of recoiling, she catches the fire between her fingers and smiles cheerfully.)

Then, realizing my self in a single blinding flash, I opened wide, letting my feverish thoughts flow out. You have heard these thoughts-words, Iskandar. That's why you keep your hopes up.

_“I am the Anamnesis. I am Itzara Khayon, the sister of Iskandar Khayon. I am the Vengeful Spirit. I am Ultio.”_

I remember everything they remembered. I remember what it was like: to be Itzara, sister to her brother. I remember how she reached out to you, unaware of anything around her and not recognizing a familiar face with her crippled brain - but still she reached out. I don't know why. Memory does not give an answer here.

I try the words again — and the tongue that my body has not used for a long time moves feebly in the amniotic fluid.

I am Itzara Khayon...

...I am not Itzara.

Itzara now is only the glare of the fire on the cave walls. A different mosaic was made of the scattered fragments, and even if the glass was the same, so what? My body has wires on its head, not dark braids. This body no longer knows pain or shame, except for the pain of the injuries sustained by the Vengeful Spirit, and the shame in case the victory in battle was not as complete as my master would have wished.

Nothing more to remember — everything is revealed. And it's all pointless.

The Anamnesis used to ask you to come. She needed to see you and hear you, even though software limitations prevented her from consciously acknowledging it.

The Anamnesis did not remember. But if she were _me_ and not _many-of-us_ , she might want to hold on to that memory. With the same stubbornness as you clung to the threads of the past, Iskandar.

I am not the Anamnesis. The Gestalt-structure belonged to a different, now-dead ship that smelled of regret and ash just like your old armor, Iskandar.

I am Ultio; the Vengeance.

That's right, I remember everything. But to become a slave to this memory would be to betray all that I have now.

And now, even though you, clad in black, look longingly at me and let your thoughts wave into my mind, searching and not finding — I look only at my golden-eyed lord, who is ready to give me an order. My essence quivers in anticipation of the sound of his commanding voice, and each of the memories is nothing compared to the sweet moment of battle’s beginning and the fierce ecstasy of destruction.

If this is my afterlife, Iskandar, I don't want to go back.

Look at me one last time. Keep in your memory the image of the one who will never be existing again — and let her go, as you let everything else go, a handful of dust after a handful of dust.

The girl from Prospero, however gifted, could not dare to hope that she will speak to the leader of the Legion on equal terms.

The girl from Prospero would simply have perished along with her mother and father — just one of thousands of victims in the doomed city.

The girl from Prospero was already dead.

The girl from Prospero has no place on the Vengeful Spirit — no place inside of it: the ship's engrossed yet powerful spirit is sensitive to weakness, like a beast of prey. The slightest hesitation can lead to death; therefore, I will not allow myself to hesitate.

Our lord wants us to be free from the chains of the past. 

And I, Ultio - no longer the Anamnesis, no longer Itzara - follow his will.


End file.
